“Emma looks like Lauren Bacall, and you really can’t do better than Lauren Bacall,” Miranda said.
“And he had presence,” Teddy said. “He certainly wasn’t what you’d call attractive. He was far too short for that. But he had what it took to command a room.”
“So now it’s just the brass tacks,” Teddy said. His face was ruddy and he wouldn’t have liked it if he’d known. The drink in his hand was obviously not his first.
My father, Miranda, Astrid, and Dolores all left on the same day.
Priscilla was furious that Miranda had chosen Dolores as a companion on this sojourn to Palm Beach. She thought Dolores was certainly not in the league of a Fortune, even a Fortune without money. Besides, she thought my claim on my family should be stronger than that of a stranger, and she was far more angry than I was to see me so easily discarded. True, I didn’t want to go, but they might have acted, just for a minute, as if I’d be missed. I realized that I had been under the misconception that I performed some important function in my family. But now it looked like my role could easily be assumed by just about anyone.
A black Lincoln Town Car arrived to take Teddy, Miranda, and Dolores to the airport.
“That’s the very least we can do,” Miranda said. “We can march out of here with style.”
“Well, goodbye, dear,” Teddy said. He kissed me on the cheek and checked his watch. “Where is Dolores? She’s late.”
A taxi pulled up and Dolores toppled out. She was lugging an army surplus duffel over one shoulder. With the other hand she pulled a rolling suitcase. She also had a handbag and a carry-on piece. She juggled it all without much grace.
“Come on, then,” Miranda called to her from the front steps. “We don’t want to miss our plane. We should have ordered a limousine. The Town Car is going to be tight with the three of us,” she complained.
“I could keep the cab and meet you at the airport,” Dolores said. Miranda paused to consider this. She looked at Dolores and her haphazard luggage.
“Of course not. We’ll all fit.” Teddy signaled the driver, who took Dolores’s bags and shifted them into the Lincoln, then came up the steps and gathered some of Miranda’s luggage.
Miranda pecked me on both cheeks, European style, took her Louis Vuitton train case, and trotted out to the car. She was wearing high heels and a Chanel suit—no jeans and T-shirts for her. She would arrive in Florida with all the ostentation of a small-time celebrity.
My father took several bags, and between him and the driver, they eventually filled the car. The trunk wouldn’t close, so instead of leaving the neighborhood with the desired aplomb, they looked slapdash and Beverly Hillbillyish. But it didn’t matter. There was no one but me and Astrid to watch them go.
After they left, Astrid looked at me. There were tears in her eyes, but she was smiling.
She wrapped me in a strong hug. It made me uncomfortable. I wasn’t used to hugging people and I never knew what to do with my hands. I always ended up patting the other person on the back awkwardly.
“You’re the only one of them who is worth anything, Jane,” she said, “and don’t you ever forget it.” She handed me a piece of paper with her new address on it. “I want to know how you are, and if you ever need a place to stay, you can always come to me.”
Ironically, in the end, it was our maid who thought to offer me a place to stay, but I was going to my sister Winnie’s for Thanksgiving. It was a command performance. Winnie’s life as a wife and mother wasn’t exactly what she had imagined it would be and she had difficulty keeping up with it. She often called to complain that she was sick and needed me “immediately or before.”
Priscilla had already left for Canada, where she would spend the holidays with her sister.
I thanked Astrid, thanked her for everything. I could never thank her enough. I watched her walk away toward her friend’s car. Several people had come during the past few days to help her move, and it made me wonder about her life outside of our house. It was obviously far more rich than I ever imagined. The end of the Fortune family establishment was the best thing that could have happened to her. She was on the threshold of a new life.
Alone in the house, I spent days wrapping up what Max would have called tchotchkes
It made me smile to think how horrified Miranda and Teddy would be if they knew that some of their prized possessions would be “wintering” on the edge of Route 128.
Chapter 11
I arrived at my sister Winnie’s on a Saturday morning.
“I’m in here,” Winnie called from the recesses of her family room. “The door’s open.” Winnie’s voice was weak and complaining, but there was nothing unusual in that. She was out of her depth as a wife and mother and she made up a series of ailments to shield herself from both responsibility and criticism. Complaint had become a habit for Winnie and I think she enjoyed it. It’s the prestige of the ill. People can’t very well ignore you when you’re sick, nor can they expect much from you. I had been humoring Winnie since the day she was born. She had been a fussy child: the first to cry on a long car trip, the first to throw a tantrum if she got bored, cold, or hot. She was just never comfortable, our Winnie.
Winnie was at the back of the house in a large window seat. She had an afghan pulled up to her chest. It was one of Priscilla’s signature afghans, made from squares of expensive but leftover yarns. Winnie was staring out toward the enormous field that separated her house from the large farmhouse that belonged to her in-laws.
I went over to her, bent, and kissed her on the cheek. Her cheek was soft and powdery, lacking all resilience, and her smell always reminded me of my mother.
“What took you so long?” Winnie whined. “I thought you’d never come.”
“I told you I’d be here today. And here I am.”
“It’s so dull around here and I’ve been feeling so sick. Charlie took the boys out and I haven’t seen anyone all morning.”
“Well, I’m here now,” I said. “Can I get you some tea or something?”
“Thank you, Jane. You’re a savior. I think if I get up, I’ll just fall over, not that anyone cares about that.”
On my way to the kitchen, I traversed the carpet, which was littered with toy trucks and action figures that had died on the battlefield.
“I know, it’s a mess,” Winnie said. She waved her hand toward the room. “It’s just all so overwhelming and Jorie already left for Thanksgiving.” Jorie was a student from Framingham State College who lived with them and helped out with the boys.
“Charlie’s mother said she’d come over to see me,” Winnie went on, “but she hasn’t come anywhere near me. Typical.” Winnie paused and twitched her nose. “Can you smell that? Can you?” Winnie opened the window and cool air rushed in. “It’s that damned manure. I think they want to drive me crazy. I really do. They built the house here on purpose just so I’d have to deal with the stink of manure day and night.”
Charlie’s parents had subdivided their farm and built a house for Charlie and Winnie. It was a five-bedroom Colonial on a rolling piece of land beside some woods. Everything in the house was new and the best that money could buy.
Winnie’s house was several acres from the main house, and did indeed exist on the border of a farm that accommodated twenty-four horses, some of which were owned by the Maples, while others were boarded by people from nearby towns. Yes, the constant smell of manure wafted from the barn, but that’s how barns smell. I was sure the Maples had not set out to drive my sister crazy.
With horses so easily accessible, I would have thought that Winnie, who had won prizes for dressage when she was young, would take every opportunity to ride, but she never got on a horse anymore.
“I’ll get the tea,” I said from the far side of the room. I went into the kitchen. The breakfast dishes were piled
